


Man Shall Not Live on Bread Alone

by Dancains



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: (but Ed doesn't know it), Also some very low key sugar daddy vibes, Biblical allusions being taken out of context, Date Night, M/M, Opera music, Oswald and Ed are high key a power couple and they're not even a couple yet, Set during early season 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-17
Updated: 2018-01-17
Packaged: 2019-03-06 01:50:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13400919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dancains/pseuds/Dancains
Summary: "Ed," Oswald ventured softly, "Would you say that you're happy?"It was something Ed had never been asked before. He considered it carefully. "In...a general sense, or in this particular moment?"Oswald tilted his head thoughtfully, "Both, I suppose."





	Man Shall Not Live on Bread Alone

**Author's Note:**

> Based on this mood board: http://draculas-gay-daughter.tumblr.com/post/163517013773/nygmobblepot-mood-board-newly-appointed-mayor
> 
> The opera song they listen to at the end, if you want some mood music: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VVr7kAp7Rek
> 
> And for whatever reason I could picture this Dusty Springfield song playing in the restaurant: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f7QzxYAjgNc
> 
> I've been working on this one for a while...please enjoy!

Ed hadn't realized that he wasn't alone in the study until a hand gently pushed aside the document that he had been holding inches from his face. He had been so absorbed in his work that the uneven tapping of footsteps on the mansion's hard wood floors had gone unnoticed.

 He set down the paper to reveal Oswald, leaning casually against his desk.

 "While it's nice to see you so engulfed in your work, Ed, it is getting rather late."

 He was grateful for his friend's concern. Oswald had his brocade dressing gown wrapped tightly around himself; Ed also hadn't realized that the fire had gone out sometime in the last hour. 

 "Well, you do have a busy morning tomorrow. I just wanted to make sure everything was set."

 "I'm sure we're more than prepared. In fact," he paused, "I was just thinking that the two of us deserve a relaxing night out."

 "Oh?" 

 "Well, we really haven't had the time or occasion to properly celebrate my mayoral victory, not to mention the fact that...I'd like to do something to thank you for all the work you've done in these past few weeks." The tone of his request was uncharacteristically hesitant.

 "Oswald," Ed breathed, almost laughing, "If one of us needs to thank the other, it's certainly not you. Still, yes, I would love to do something to celebrate. What did you have in mind?"

 Oswald visibly perked up. "Wonderful. It's been brought to my attention that my late father and his wife were season ticket holders at the Gotham City Opera House--they even had their own reserved box seats. They're still paid for until the end of the year. I was thinking, perhaps, dinner and a show? This Friday evening?"

 Ed beamed, delighted at the idea. He had never been to the opera before. "That sounds perfect. I'll be counting down the minutes until then," he half-joked.

 Oswald grinned back at him and nodded, seemingly at a loss for words. A long moment of silence stretched out between them, strangely comfortable, as they regarded each other.

 "I think I'm going to retire for the evening. It's...rather cold down here. Goodnight, Ed."

 "I was just about finished. I'll walk up with you."

 Ed's hand skirted up the well-polished stair rail as they climbed the steps, a pleasant, now-familiar sensation committed to his vast memory. He felt himself lingering as they reached the threshold of Oswald's room. Over his friend's shoulder Ed could see that the master bedroom looked warm and cozy, with a blazing fire in the hearth, if not somewhat empty in it's unoccupied state.

 "Well, goodnight, Oswald." Ed didn't know why the words almost stuck in his throat.

 "Goodnight." 

 He felt the casual brush of a hand on his arm before Oswald shut the door.

When the weekend finally rolled around, Ed was grateful for an exciting deviation from their usual routine. 

 He stood in front of the armoire in his room, studying the selection of suits there carefully. He always put care into his appearance, but he felt that this night was even more important than usual. He chose a simple black suit and double checked that his hair was smoothed back perfectly, before meeting Oswald in the foyer. 

 Oswald was waiting, cane in hand, clad in one of his customary dark pinstriped suits. It was paired with a thickly knotted burgundy neck tie.

 "It seems we unintentionally matched," he remarked, gesturing towards Ed's similarly colored tie. 

"Oh, I could change it if you want."

 Oswald quirked an eyebrow. "No...no, Ed. It's quite fine. You look very sharp."

Before Ed could thank him, their car pulled up. Ed recognized it as the same limousine that had come to take him from Arkham, or at least the same make and model. They were certainly traveling in style. 

 They both slid into the long seat in the very back, sitting close despite the abundance of space, simply out of habit. Much like the night Oswald had invited him out, there was a calm quiet between them. 

 Ed hadn't studied much of the limo's interior on their previous trip, too distracted by his sudden, newfound freedom and the unexpected nature of Oswald's arrival. He thought that Oswald looked at home among the sleek leather upholstery and lavish silver accents. 

 Not unlike Oswald, he had experienced a rather humble upbringing, which made this experience feel like an exceptional luxury. Ed watched contentedly through the tinted window as the city rolled by them, teaming with life and light. To him, Gotham seemed as if a pulsing, sentient thing--a wild creature, only now tethered by Oswald's steady hand. And he was the reliable right hand to that firm grasp, he thought to himself, a satisfied smile on his lips.

 The driver slowed as they reached their destination downtown, stopping in front of one of the glimmering high rises. Oswald stepped out and held the limo door open for Ed before the chauffeur could come around to do it.

  _"Après vous."_

 "Oh, thank you, Oswald."

 Ed felt an odd fluttering in his chest as he stepped out into the cool night air. Strange, there was no reason for him to be nervous, he thought to himself.

 He unintentionally brushed shoulders with Oswald as they were ushered through the lobby and into a private elevator. Ed watched the number on the display flicker higher and higher as they ascended. When they reached the top floor, the doors opened onto a restaurant, cast in low light and elegantly furnished, with bunches of roses adorning each cloth-covered table.

 As the maître d' led them to a secluded booth in the corner, Ed was acutely aware of more than one curious pair of eyes following them. Of course, it was natural that Gotham's elite would notice the presence of their city's exuberant new mayor. Oswald, as usual, seemed as if he couldn't care less. In Ed's own experience, people looking at him usually meant that he had done something bad or strange--and, as a consequence, he would practically wilt under too heavy of a gaze. 

 Something in the past few weeks had changed in him though. While at Oswald's side, he drank in the residual attention like a flower with its face to the sun. For once he felt important, and he increasingly liked the feeling. He was learning so much from his friend that Oswald wasn't even aware of.

 As they settled into their booth, Ed couldn't help but gape at the amazing view the floor-to-ceiling windows afforded the restaurant, the effect aided further by the dimmed lights inside. The city was laid out like a glittering bed of gems below them.

 "This is certainly something, Oswald." Ed worried that he was fogging up the glass as he leaned in towards the window, like his own pair of glasses when he held too-hot coffee close to his face.

 Oswald folded his cloth napkin primly over his lap. "I wanted to take you someplace really spectacular."

 The single candle on their table flickered, making Oswald's eyes glint in the dancing light.

Ed stared, unsure of how to respond. He was still in awe of his friend's kindness.

 Thankfully, the waiter intervened, inquiring as to what they would be drinking that evening. Oswald quickly scanned the wine menu in front of him, ordering a bottle of the most expensive Cabernet Sauvignon. He folded his arms on the table after he returned the small menu, lacing his fingers together and bringing his full attention to the man in front of him.

 "Ed," Oswald ventured softly, "Would you say that you're happy?"

 It was something Ed had never been asked before. He considered it carefully. "In...a general sense, or in this particular moment?"

 Oswald tilted his head thoughtfully, "Both, I suppose."

 "Well then, the answers are yes, and exceedingly so."

 A smile spread slowly on Oswald's face. "I'm very glad to hear that."

 Ed's face felt warm. "What opera are we seeing tonight?" he asked compulsively.

 "Oh, it's called _La Traviata_. I was under the impression that it's quite a popular performance."

 "Yes, that's one of Verdi's most well known works."

"Have you seen it before?"

 Ed shook his head, "No, but I'm familiar with the music, and the general plot of it."

 "Ah, well, I'm glad to be going with someone who's so knowledgeable about these things."

 Ed could feel a bit of pride swelling in his chest.

 The waiter soon reappeared and poured two glasses of deep red wine for them, leaving the bottle at the table. Ed took a long sip, savoring the rich, heady taste. He glanced out the window again, the singularity of Oswald's question still playing in the back of his mind. He decided that he could ask a question in return.

 "Do you every just...look out onto the city, and think to yourself that it's all yours...that it's your domain to do whatever you please with it. It must be thrilling." 

 Oswald smiled ruefully, as if recalling a memory. He raised his wine glass. "Tonight, I believe, it's all  _ours._ I couldn't have done it without you."

 Ed scoffed. "You could have easily become mayor without me. I'll still drink to that, though." He clinked his glass against Oswald's.

 "Possibly so, but I wouldn't even be sitting here today, if it wasn't for you." Oswald brought the glass closer to his lips. "And I'll certainly drink to that."

 Ed wanted to brush it off, wanted to bring up the point that if it weren't for Oswald's actions, he'd still be going slowly insane in a cramped Arkham cell, that they're more than even--but they've already talked circles about the subject in the past. Instead he mirrored Oswald's gesture, drinking deeply from the long-stemmed glass.

 After that, they busied themselves for a few moments studying the menu. 

 "I've heard the filet mignon here is particularly good."

 "Oh? Is that what you'll be having?" Ed noticed that it was the most expensive entree.

"No, I'm in more of a mood for seafood." Oswald replied.

 Ed remembered a time back when Oswald was recuperating in the secrecy of his apartment, when he had made salmon for them both, dripping with butter and a blend of fragrant herbs. Oswald had scarfed down twice as much as Ed had expected, his plans for left-overs the next day evaporating like smoke. Even though it had been a simple preparation, only paired with plain rice and vegetables, Oswald had told Ed that it was one of the best things he had ever eaten that his mother hadn't made. Ed knew it was high praise.

 Oswald looked so different now than he had at that previous meal, when he sat across from Ed with ruffled hair and borrowed pajamas. Even though the circumstances were so different, Ed appreciated that they were still doing essentially the same thing, all these months later.

 When the waiter returned, Ed ordered the steak at Oswald's insistence, doing his best to ignore the price.

 They made small talk until the food arrived--in an unusually short amount of time. Ed suspected that this was one of the perks of dining with the mayor of Gotham.

 As he ate, he watched Oswald pick lightly at the two crab cakes set in front of him, as the kale salad between them went untouched.

 "Do you not like what you ordered?" he asked conversationally.

 "No, it's fine. I'm just not very hungry."

 His own steak was delicious--juicy, and medium-rare---the first cut from his knife had been like slicing into butter. He told Oswald as much. "Would you want to try some of this?"

 He noted the slight surprise on Oswald's face. He wondered if it was odd to ask. Oswald seemed to have no reservations stealing food right off his plate when they had been previously living together, being the somewhat selfish house guest that he was, but their relationship seemed so inexplicably different now. 

 He felt a rush of relief when Oswald nodded, leaning in and spearing one of the already-cut piece with his fork. He hummed in pleasure at the taste. 

 "That  _is_ good steak," Oswald admitted.

 By the end of the meal, Oswald had eaten almost as much as off of Ed's plate as he had, and he had enjoyed one of the soft, flaky crab cakes off of Oswald's. One of them had moved the vase of roses out of the way from the center of the table, setting it closer to the window, where the scarlet petals reflected in the shine of the glass. Ed felt like he was slipping on an old glove again, as they spoke and laughed in between bites from each other's meals.

 Just as their dinner was winding down, a waitress pulled a cart up to their table, topped with a small chocolate fondue fountain and various dishes.

 "We didn't order any dessert." Oswald told her, with a hint of confusion.

 "Our fondue spread is compliments of the head chef, Mr. Mayor. Absolutely on the house." The polite smile on her face could have outshone a hundred watt light bulb.

 "Ah, splendid. Send her my best regards." 

 Ed silently watched the rivets of melted chocolate cascade down the fountain, trying to quell the rising memory of his fondue double date with Miss Kringle. He swallowed heavily.

 "Well, dig in, I suppose," Oswald invited, gesturing to the array of fruits and snacks that had been arranged on the table. 

 "It all looks very nice, but I'm feeling rather full," Ed lied.

 "Oh, alright then." Oswald gave the slightest shrug of his shoulder.

 As they continued to talk, Ed watched Oswald pierce one of the strawberries with a wooden skewer and hold it under the flowing melted chocolate. He popped the whole fruit into his mouth with a satisfied sound, before dabbing at the corners of his mouth with his napkin. 

 "Are you sure you don't want any? These strawberries are incredibly fresh." 

 "Well--" 

 Before Ed could properly argue, Oswald had speared another strawberry on a clean skewer and dipped it into the fountain. He held it out to Ed.

 Without thinking, Ed leaned forward and bit into it, muscle memory kicking in from the last time he had enjoyed fondue, when he and Kristen had playfully fed each other pieces of warm cheese-coated bread. 

 Oswald's eyes went as wide as saucers, and Ed abruptly realized that Oswald had simply meant to hand it to him. Oh.

 He pulled the piece of fruit off the skewer with his teeth, as Oswald had seemingly gone stock still. He chewed it slowly, carefully licking the remnants of chocolate from his lips--the dark, rich chocolate over the sweet, tangy taste of fruit was admittedly wonderful. Oswald blinked at him a few times, before hurriedly dropping the skewer on his plate.

 Internally panicking, Ed decided to try and play it cool after his obvious faux pas. He skewered another strawberry for himself. 

 "You were right, they do taste very fresh," he said innocently, taking a bite. He tried to ignore the heat he felt across his face.

Oswald nodded wordlessly. He took a long drink from his glass of wine.  
 

By the time Oswald had paid the bill and they were back in the limo being driven to the opera house, it seemed that any residual awkwardness had passed. Oswald chattered to him animatedly, pausing every so often for Ed's thoughts. Ed was relieved.

 Once they arrived, He was reminded of how beautiful of a building the Gotham City Opera House truly was. They passed through greco-roman columns into an immense lobby, teeming with a small crowd, all dressed to the nines in near black tie attire. It has an effect almost like stepping back in time. A grand staircase dominates the space, its marble steps forking out to the right and the left, towards the east and west wings of the opera house. 

 "I've read that the staircase is modeled after the one in the  _Palais Garnier,_ in Paris." Ed told Oswald as they waited in the short will-call line.

 "Isn't that where the Phantom of the Opera took place? I remember reading the book in school." He stared off a bit wistfully. "I always felt quite bad for the phantom, actually."

 "I did as well. I thought he was the most intriguing character." The man behind the counter handed them their passes.

 Ed could feel Oswald's hand on his elbow, gently maneuvering him as they made their way through the crowd. He leaned into the comfortable weight of it, and could still feel it as they ascended the steps, even though the foot traffic around them has thinned considerably. 

 Oswald ushered them to the left, down a corridor and up another small flight of stairs. He glanced down at the paper in his hand again before pushing open the door to their box. They were met with an elegant crimson-upholstered room.

 Ed leaned over the banister at the front of it, taking in the waves of plush velvet seats far below and the elaborate embellished ceiling that curved above them. The twinkling chandelier in the center of it reminded him of their conversation from just a few moments before.

 He gestured towards it, speaking to Oswald in a low murmur, "hopefully no opera ghost has plans to drop that on the audience tonight." 

 Oswald settled into the seat next to him, leaning his cane up against the railing, "I'll admit, it would make for a highly eventful evening."

 Ed flashed him a devilish grin. "I think any evening spent with you is eventful enough as it is."

 An unexpectedly fond expression came over Oswald's face. He laughed sweetly, as he dug a hand into the inner pocket of his coat.

 "I just remembered something." He pulled out a pair of opera glasses and pressed them into Ed's hands. "They're for you."

 The glasses resembled a pair of very ornate binoculars. Ed studied the small device with delight, unfolding the handle from the gold rimmed lenses and peering through them at the orchestra warming up below them. Ed decided that they were probably antique, and no doubt quite expensive to obtain.

 "Oswald, these are beautiful, but you really shouldn't have bought them for me...you've...you've done so much already."

 "If it makes you feel better, Ed, I didn't buy them. They were my father's--I found them in his room."

 Ed was taken aback. "And you want me to have them?"

 "I figured that we would both use them, of course, but I suspect that you have a better appreciation for the operatic arts than I do...and, well, I know they're in safe hands." He tenderly placed a hand on top of Ed's, keeping it in place around the opera glasses. He withdrew it as the opera's lights began to dim.

 Ed was glad for the darkness, if only because he could feel a warm, embarrassing flush across his face. Oswald leaning in close to his ear to politely whisper to him certainly didn't help.

 "I would be very appreciative if you would fill me in a little, in regards to the plot. If I'm not mistaken this is entirely in Italian."

 Ed composed himself before answering. "You're not mistaken."

 As the first act of the opera commenced below them, Ed launched into an explanation of the story.

 "Basically, it's about this woman," he pointed, "Violetta--she's a famous Parisian courtesan, and she's throwing this lavish party to celebrate her recovery from an illness. In a moment she'll be introduced by a friend to Alfredo, a sort of naive young aristocrat who's infatuated with her, despite the lifestyle she lives. He would come everyday to check on her well being when she was ill..."

 "Sounds very romantic," Oswald whispered back to him. Ed hadn't realized just how close together they had been leaning. His words were soft and warm against Ed's ear.

 "Well, it's...quite a romantic opera...tragic, but romantic." 

 He resumed his explanation of the plot. As the story progressed they both became more engrossed, passing the opera glasses back and forth intermittently to survey the actions on the stage. 

 They were both broken from their reverie as the first act finally came to an end. The curtains closed and the lights came back on, signalling an intermission.

 "Shall we?" Oswald invited with a flourish of the hand. Ed rose from his seat.

 At the end of the hall was a lounge with high ceilings and a bar running across the back wall, apparently reserved for season ticket holders. Gradually, a small crowd of well dressed patrons spilled into the room.

 "I think I'll use the men's room before the line gets too long," said Ed, excusing himself. 

 "I was going to get something from the bar, did you want another drink?"

 "Sure, anything's fine."

 When he returned to the lounge he scanned the crowd, instinctively searching for Oswald's uniquely coiffed hair. He spotted him in the corner talking to an older woman.

 "Ah, Ed there you are," Oswald greeted him as he approached. 

 He handed Ed a short stemless glass of what looked like wine."I'm not sure if you've met city councilwoman Maureen Davis."

 "Please call me Maureen." 

 She had a firm grip and a pleasant smile as she shook Ed's hand. Her modest, though stylish, silver gown complemented the touches of gray in her close cropped curls. "We were just talking about the show. My husband and I have seen it before, but it's been a number of years..."

 As they made small talk, Ed could feel a slight pressure on the back of his arm, not unlike earlier in the evening. For a split second he thought Oswald was trying to get his attention, but when Ed covertly glanced at him, Oswald seemed completely occupied by what Mrs. Davis was saying about her favorite aria from  _La Bohème. ___

__"Ah, there's Leonard," she interjected, waving to someone behind Oswald and Ed. "I've managed to drag him away from his ivory towers of academia for one evening at least," she stage-whispered._ _

__"I know the type," replied Oswald, shooting Ed an affection glance. Ed raised an eyebrow at him, bemused._ _

__Leonard Davis was tall, taller than Ed, with tortoise-shell glasses and a short, neat beard. He was carrying two drinks, one of which he deposited into his wife's hand._ _

__"I didn't think we'd be running into the mayor tonight, darling, I would have worn my nicer suit." He rested a hand on the small of her back, unintentionally mirroring Oswald._ _

__She laughed fondly. "I was just telling him about when we saw _La Bohème_  in London last summer._ _

__As Mrs. Davis formally introduced her husband to the both of them, Ed noticed when Oswald's hand left his elbow to shake Mr. Davis'. He was oddly relieved when he felt it return._ _

__"I believe your wife said that you were a professor?" Ed addressed Mr. Davis when there was a lull in the conversation._ _

__"Yes, I teach history, at Gotham University. Are you an alumnae by any chance?"_ _

__"I am indeed. Tell me, does Professor Fairgood still teach there?"_ _

__"She does. Still scaring the living daylights out of freshman in her Abstract Algebra class, from what I've heard."_ _

__They both chuckled._ _

__A few minutes later, when the lights flickered to indicate the end of the intermission, Ed realized what a nice time he had been having. It had been so long sing he had gone out and socialized with anyone, with the exception of some the ceremonial events he and Oswald had to attend for work._ _

__They bid the older couple good evening and returned to their box to settle in for the rest of the performance._ _

__"If we ever throw a dinner party at the mansion, they would be nice people to invite," Oswald decided, as the curtain on the stage began to part._ _

__"Mhm," Ed murmured in agreement, "I've made a mental note of it."_ _

__Ed easily became engrossed in the opera again, occasionally closing his eyes to focus on the beautiful orchestral music. Although he occasionally enjoyed singing himself, he recognized that these performers were individuals with an exceptional talent. Halfway through the second act, when he turned to Oswald to make a comment about the baritone singer who portrayed Alfredo's father, he realized that Oswald was fast asleep._ _

__If he was in the company of anyone else, he might have found it unmannerly, but he knew the long hours that Oswald had been working recently. He was essentially working two jobs, and meanwhile managing to never look even remotely ruffled in the public eye. His earlier implication that Ed was a workaholic was arguably a case of the pot and the kettle._ _

__Ed felt himself watching Oswald instead of the opera, noting how smooth and untroubled his face looked while slack with sleep. He calmly observed the steady rise and fall of his chest._ _

__Not for the first time that evening, he was reminded of Oswald's previous period of convalescence in his apartment, when Ed had unintentionally watched him sleep for hours when the powerful pain medication had kicked in. He recalled what Oswald had told him about his beloved mother singing him to sleep--perhaps the music was having that same affect on him now._ _

__Unexpectedly, Oswald stirred from his sleep, and Ed felt himself tense up, readying himself to feign interest in the stage below them to avoid being caught staring. Instead, Oswald only shifted in his seat, his head now lolling to one side against Ed's shoulder._ _

__Ed only tensed more, anxious not to wake him, but after a few moments he gradually relaxed, focusing again on the music. Like Oswald's hand on his arm earlier, his head on Ed's shoulder became a comfortable, reassuring sensation._ _

__When was the last time he had been this close to a person, he reflected. How long since he had found himself delighted at someone else's very presence, aching for even the slightest hints of affection, the most casual touch? Not since Kristen, his brain supplied insistently._ _

__His life had been so busy lately, that the numb grief that her memory usually brought him had barely crossed his mind in the last few weeks. Still, just because he found someone else to occupy most of his attention, it didn't mean that he felt for Oswald in any way similar to the way he had yearned for Kristen._ _

__Or...could it? Even just daring to imagine that he might have romantic feelings for Oswald made Ed feel simultaneously thrilled and terrified._ _

__As the soprano and tenor on stage sang a beautiful ringing high note together, he felt a stirring in his heart that had nothing to do with the opera._ _

__He ventured a glance at the subject of his newfound, uncertain affections, making sure not to disturb him. Tentatively, he tried to imagine himself gently pressing a kiss to his sleeping friend's forehead. The thought made him feel...good, warm--it certainly wasn't unappealing, he decided. Far from it. But, what would it be like to kiss Oswald, properly, like lovers? He closed his eyes, intricately conceiving a new fantasy._ _

__For whatever reason, his mind conjured the memory of one particular evening at the mansion, after the fiasco at the Sirens' where he had nearly been choked into an early grave. That same night Ed had sat by Oswald in the flickering firelight and told him that he would do anything for him. He tried to imagine if Oswald had taken that promise more literally, or even taken it as an invitation--anything, Ed had said to him._ _

__Oswald's expression was loving and reverent as leaned into Ed's space. Instead of wrapping his arms around Ed in a tight hug, he put both his hands on Ed's face, cupping his jaw and running a thumb tenderly against his cheeks. He drew Ed closer to him, pulling him into a passionate kiss._ _

__Simply imagining the scenario made Ed feel dizzy, breathless._ _

__How long had he desired Oswald without even knowing it? Had it been more than brazen curiosity that had lead him to first introduce himself to Oswald at the GCPD, to interject himself into the life of the then dangerous yet intriguing criminal? He really couldn't be sure.The memory now felt as if it was from another lifetime._ _

__That brought his mind to another matter. As far as he remembered, the objects of his occasional affections had always been female, even going back to the bright-eyed, freckled girl he was head over heels for in the first grade. Still, if he had only now realized his capacity for romantic feelings for Oswald, perhaps there were other crushes in his life that he had simply regarded as strong feelings of respect, or brotherly admiration? It was certainly something to ponder at a later time._ _

__His thoughts floated back to Oswald, and the exhilarating possibilities of his fantasy. What would it be like to be intimate with another man? Heat pooled in the pit of his stomach; he imagined it to be excitingly strange but familiar at the same time._ _

__Ed suddenly became mortified with himself as he realized that he was trying to imagine Oswald in the throes of passion as the man was innocently sleeping on his shoulder. If Oswald hadn't been leaning on him, he would have made his way back to the men's room to splash cold water on his on face._ _

__He tried to regain his earlier calm as the third act of the opera progressed, but the story only reminded him of how fleeting many opportunities for love really were. Despite the many obstacles they faced, Violetta and Alfredo were reunited--but only as Violetta was on her deathbed, the consumption she had been suffering from for years now taking it's final toll._ _

___"Gran Dio!...morir sì giovane,"_ sang the beautiful soprano.  _Great God!...to die so young.__ _

__As the opera ended, she collapsed into her lover's arms._ _

__The thunderous applause from all around them finally roused Oswald from his slumber. He blinked, scrunching his face as the lights above them came back on. As soon as he noticed how he had been draped over Ed, he hurriedly straightened himself._ _

__"I'm so sorry, that was incredibly rude of-" he began to apologize, before faltering, concern written across his features, "Ed, are you alright?"_ _

__Ed hadn't realized that his eyes were wet with tears. He pulled off his glasses and began to rub at his eyes. "I'm fine. It was just... the end of the opera. I..."_ _

__Oswald made a fleeting movement with his hand, as if to reach out, but instead pulled the perfectly folded handkerchief from his breast pocket and proffered it to him._ _

__Ed wordlessly took the cloth from Oswald and used it to dab at his eyes and face. When he was done, Oswald tucked it back into one of the inner pockets of his suit._ _

__"Let's go home, Ed."_ _

__The words were music to Ed's ears._ _

__

__While they were being driven back to the mansion, Ed filled Oswald in as to the parts of performance he had missed. He reassured him that he wasn't bothered that Oswald had fallen asleep. "With the long hours you work, I'm just glad to see you get some sleep."_ _

__Oswald looked slightly embarrassed nonetheless, "thank you, my friend."_ _

__As they discussed the evening's events, Ed's mind drifted, once again fixating on his earlier inner discovery. He was now certain that he had feelings for Oswald, but it occurred to him that he had no idea if Oswald reciprocated them._ _

__Of course, he had heard the gossip and rumors about Oswald circulating around the GCPD as he began to gain power and influence in Gotham's underworld. He cringed in anger remembering some of the bigoted terms that cops had used in passing while referencing the penguin. There were some aspects of his former job that Ed occasionally missed, but the gruff, hyper-masculine environment wasn't one of them._ _

__Even so, assumptions weren't necessarily facts--though, at the same time, Ed found it incredibly difficult to picture Oswald with a woman in any sort of romantic situation. And even if Oswald was attracted to men, the fact wouldn't as much as begin to solve the question of whether or not he could have feelings for Ed specifically, he mused._ _

__What would a man like Oswald do to signal his affections? Grand gestures, Ed decided, something luxurious yet traditional--like a beautiful candlelit dinner, or..._ _

__Ed could have smacked himself for his own stupidity. Oswald had been wooing him all night, if not longer, he finally concluded--courting him like a proper gentleman, and Ed had been too oblivious to even notice._ _

__He almost blurted something out to Oswald then and there, in the back of the limousine, before he reigned himself in. He knew he had to wait for the right moment._ _

__It was late when they finally returned to the mansion, but both of them seemed equally reluctant to part ways. The fireplace had been lit in the front parlor, and they both gravitated towards the sofa to bask in its welcoming heat. They sat for a moment in silence._ _

__"I could...make some tea if you like," Oswald offered tentatively, "Maybe you could put on a record? I believe my father had quite a few operatic recordings, if you wanted to hear more." He nodded his head in the direction of the shelf next to the phonograph._ _

__"Sure, that sounds lovely."_ _

__He watched Oswald's nervous retreat to the kitchen before getting up to comb through the record lined shelves._ _

__After a bit of searching he found a recording of _La Traviata_ that looked to be at least fifty years old, with a melted candle and a half-written love letter adorning the cover. He pulled the record from the sleeve and blew a thin layer of dust off the vinyl surface. He flipped it to the B side before placing it on the old-fashioned player and carefully setting the needle so it would play the last song of the opera's second act. _ _

__Despite the hiss and pop of the aging record, Violetta's voice was still beautiful and piercing._ _

___"Alfredo, Alfredo, di questo core non puoi comprendere tutto l'amore..."__ _

__Ed flourished his fingers in the air, as if conducting an invisible orchestra. When Oswald returned a few moments later, the next track on the record was playing, a slow yet intriguing instrumental prelude to the third act._ _

__Ed noticed that Oswald was only in his vest and shirtsleeves as he carried a tray with two teacups to where they had been sitting earlier. The room had warmed considerably, and Ed removed his own jacket, laying it over a chair. He loosened his tie as he sat back on the sofa, setting his glasses on the tray topped ottoman so he could rub at the bridge of his nose._ _

__"I thought I would play some of the arias that you missed," he told Oswald, gently teasing._ _

__Oswald sipped his tea, hiding a smile behind the cup, "thank you."_ _

__"No, thank you--for such a lovely evening."_ _

__Oswald seemed flustered by this, "really, please don't thank me. I hope you know that I enjoy spending time with you, immensely."_ _

__Summoning all of he bravery he could muster, Ed placed a hand over one of Oswald's, resting between them on the sofa. Oswald's gaze flickered curiously to their hands, then back to Ed's face. "Oswald," Ed ventured, "I hope you know that you don't have to do anything to impress me.That you've already earned my respect and my...admiration."_ _

__"Ed, I'm not quite sure-"_ _

__"Are you familiar with the biblical quote, that 'man shall not live by bread alone'?"_ _

__Oswald creased his brow in confusion, "I didn't have a particularly religious upbringing, but it sounds familiar."_ _

__"I think it can be interpreted differently, but most argue that it means that...people not only need the physical necessities of life, but have a need for something deeper: a spiritual fulfillment, or an emotional one. It's not enough to simply feed the body, but to feed the mind...or the heart."_ _

__Oswald watched him as if enraptured, hanging on every word that poured from Ed's lips._ _

__"I'm sorry, I'm probably not making sense," Ed whispered. Oswald was so close now that there was no reason to speak any louder. In that moment it was as if the world outside no longer existed, the universe simply narrowing down to Ed and Oswald, the heat from the fireplace and the hair's breadth of space between them on the sofa._ _

__When Oswald spoke it was in the same hushed tone, as if only for Ed's ears. "I think I know exactly what you're trying to say...and it's something I've been trying to find the courage to say to you for a long time now."_ _

__Ed waited expectantly for him to finish the sentiment, but instead Oswald merely raised a hand to gently cradle the side of Ed's face. Ed hadn't realized that he had been burning until the touch brought a chilling relief to his skin._ _

__He closed his eyes, and Oswald made quick work of the final inches between them, by pressing their lips together in a kiss that ached with chaste vulnerability._ _

__He gasped against Oswald's mouth, who took it as an invitation to tilt his head and run his tongue along the seam of Ed's lips. One of Ed's hands instinctively went to the nape of Oswald's neck, anchoring Oswald against himself. If Oswald's kiss lacked finesse it only served to make him more endearing, seemingly honest and unashamed in his hunger. The quiver of want deep in Ed's chest was intoxicating, and the fact that he was wanted--eagerly, desperately--in return made it all the more exhilarating._ _

__When they broke apart to breath, Ed decided that earth had probably paused on its axis._ _

__He wanted a million different things in that moment--to muss Oswald's perfectly styled hair, to press burning kisses to every inch of his skin, to wake up in the morning by his side, bleary with sleep and delirious with affection._ _

__"Earlier tonight, you asked me if I was happy, and I told you I was, but...I don't think I truly knew happiness, until this moment."_ _

__To Ed, Oswald's smile was a beacon of hope, and a promise of the things yet to come._ _


End file.
